Paullina Simons

“Harry nearly prayed it wasn’t one of her friends who smelled like the beach and books and brine. He inhaled when they stopped for the light, and was simultaneously relieved and agitated to realize, no, it was her.”

“Alexander moved her off him, laid her down, was over her, was pressed into her, crushing her. Anthony was right there, he didn't care, he was trying to inhale her, trying to absorb her into himself. "All this time you were stepping out in front of me, Tatiana," he said. "Now I finally understand. You hid me on Bethel Island for eight months. For two years you hid me and deceived me - to save me. I am such an idiot," he whispered. "Wretch or not, ravaged or not, in a carapace or not, there you still were, stepping out for me, showing the mute mangled stranger your brave and indifferent face."Her eyes closed, her arms tightened around his neck. "That stranger is my life," she whispered. They crawled away from Anthony, from their only bed, onto a blanket on the floor, barricading themselves behind the table and chairs. "You left our boy to go find me, and this is what you found..." Alexander whispered, on top of her, pushing inside her, searching for peace.Crying out underneath him, Tatiana clutched his shoulders."This is what you brought back from Sachsenhausen." his movement was tense, deep, needful. Oh God. Now there was comfort. "You thought you were bringing back him, but Tania, you brought back me.""Shura...you'll have to do..." Her fingers were clamped into his scars."In you," said Alexander, lowering his lips to her parted mouth and cleaving their flesh, "are the answers to all things."All the rivers flowed into the sea and still the sea was not full.”

“You are still not fucking immortal, sir. And your men certainly aren’t, but I don’t give a shit about the men. It’s you we can’t replace. And I’m supposed to be here to protect you. How can you engage in hand-to-hand combat in the water when you are supposed to be in the rear? What do you think you are made of, Captain? Until just now when I saw you bleed red blood like the rest of us, I wasn’t sure.”“It’s not my blood,” Alexander said.“What?”But Alexander shook his head.”

“We’ll meet again in Lvov, my love and I…” Tatiana hums, eating her ice cream, in our Leningrad, in jasmine June, near Fontanka, the Neva, the Summer Garden, where we are forever young.”

“That was his moment in Leningrad, on an empty street, when his life became possible—when Alexander became possible. There he stood as he was—a young Red Army officer in dissolution, all his days stamped with no future and all his appetites unrestrained, on patrol the day war started for Russia. He stood with his rifle slung on his shoulder and cast his wanton eyes on her, eating her ice cream all sunny, singing, blonde, blossoming, breathtaking. He gazed at her with his entire unknowable life in front of him, and this is what he was thinking…To cross the street or not to cross?To follow her? To hop on the bus, after her? What absolute madness.”

“Come on,” he said quietly, bending to her and lifting her whole into his arms. He carried her inside. After setting her down next to the sink, he crushed five trays of ice into it and filled it with cold water. Tatiana thought he was going to tell her to put her face into it, and was about to meekly impotently protest—when Alexander submerged his own head into the ice.”

“Well, at least someone around here is getting pregnant,” Alexander said through clenched teeth, bending in his own stricken fury. “And it didn’t take fifteen fucking years.”“Like I’d keep any baby that was yours!” cried Tatiana. “I’d take a coat hanger to it before I kept one of your babies!”Alexander hit her so hard across the face that she reeled sideways and fell to the ground. Blinded he stood over her. Guttural sounds were coming from his throat. Her arms covered her head. “You have stepped out of all bounds, all decency,” he said, yanking her up. “I can’t believe how much you hate me.”

“He was breathing heavily. “I honestly don’t understand what’s wrong with you,” he said. “You’re telling me to pack my bags, to leave our house, knowing you’re going to have a baby?”“And this surprises you why? Have you seen what’s been happening in our house?”“Stop talking to me like this in our bed, Tatiana. My white flag is up,” said Alexander. “I have no more.”“My white flag is up, too, Shura,” she said. “You know when mine went up? June 22, 1941.”

“Shura,” she whispered. “I’m going to have a baby.”At first she didn’t think Alexander heard her, he was mute so long. “You what?” he said in horror.“I’m going to have a baby,” she mouthed, her shoulders quaking, her swollen lips quivering.”

“You know I can’t make her pregnant,” he said. “You know she is lying at least about that, right? After what I’d seen in Moscow, after what my mother taught me, and all during my years“as a garrison soldier, think—what did I tell you about myself and the women I’d been with? Have I ever had it off bareback with anyone? Ever, even once in my whole fucking life?”“Yes,” she said faintly. “With me.”“Yes,” Alexander said, sinking down. “Only with you.” His shoulders slumped. “Because you are holy.” He looked at his hands. “And a fat load of good it’s done me.”

“Alexander speaks. “Anthony, I’m going to tell you something. In 1941, when I met your mother, she had turned seventeen and was working at the Kirov factory, the largest weapons production facility in the Soviet Union. Do you know what she wore? A ratty brown cardigan that belonged to her grandmother. It was tattered and patched and two sizes too big for her. Even though it was June, she wore her much larger sister’s black skirt that was scratchy wool. The skirt came down to her shins. Her too-big thick black cotton stockings bunched up around her brown work boots. Her hands were covered in black grime she couldn’t scrub off. She smelled of gasoline and nitrocellulose because she had been making bombs and flamethrowers all day. And still I came every day to walk her home.”

“That I have no idea what good old Dr. Ha-ha-so-fucking-funny Bradley is thinking when he touches your back? When he kisses your hand, pretending it’s just a joke, you think I don’t know what he’s thinking? When he stands close to you, looks into your nice red lips as you talk, when his eyes shimmer at the mention of your name? He’s gone soft in the head, you think I don’t know? I was the one with the hat in my hands, standing for hours waiting for you to get out of Kirov. What,” said Alexander.”

“The days of idealism had gone. Only life was left.”

“At night in the tent, he leaves the flaps open, to feel the fire outside, to hear Anthony in the trailer, to see her better. She asks him to lie on his stomach, and he does, though he can't see her, while she runs her bare breasts over his disfigured back, her nipples hardening into his scars. You feel that? she whispers. Oh, he does. He still feels it. She kisses him from the top of his head downward, from his buzz-cut scalp, his shoulder blades, his wounds. Inch by inch she cries over him and kisses her own salt away, murmuring into him, why did you have to keep running? Look what they did to you. Why didn't you just stay put? Why couldn't you feel I was coming for you?You thought I was dead, he says. You thought I had been killed and pushed through the ice in Lake Ladoga. And what really happened was, I was a Soviet man left in a Soviet prison. Wasn't I dead?He is fairly certain he is alive now, and while Tatiana lies on top of his back and cries, he remembers being caught by the dogs a kilometer from Oranienburg and held in place by the Alsatians until Karolich arived, and being flogged in Sachsenhausen's main square and then chained and tattooed publicly with the 25-point star to remind him of his time for Stalin, and now she lies on his back, kissing the scars he received when he tried to escape to make his way back to her so she could kiss him.As he drives across Texas, Alexander remembers himself in Germany lying in the bloody straw after being beaten and dreaming of her kissing him, and these dreams morph with the memories of last night, and suddenly she is kissing not the scars but the raw oozing wounds, and he is in agony for she is crying and the brine of her tears is eating away the meat of his flesh, and he is begging her to stop because he can't take it anymore. Kiss something else, he pleads. Anything else. He's had enough of himself. He's sick of himself. She is tainted not just with the Gulag. She is tainted with his whole life.Does it hurt when I touch them?He has to lie. Every kiss she plants on his wounds stirs a sense memory of how he got them. He wanted her to touch him, and this is what he gets. But if he tells her the truth, she will stop. So he lied. No, he says.”

“they say, he's mine, and you say, all right, all right, he's yours, of course, take him. Nothing matters to me at all. Not me, not my food, not my bread, not my life, and not him either, nothing matters to me." "I ,Tatiana, fight for nothing”

“Harry leaned back, his hat over his inscrutable face.“Well?” Ben nudged him. “Thomas Paine, or a nubile beauty from Sicily?”“Clearly Thomas Paine. I’d be asleep now in my bed.”“Do you remember the name of the street they live on?”“Let’s see...Crazy Street? Cuckoo Street? Commitment Street? Cranial Injury Inflicted by Enraged Sibling Street?”“Canal Street! Thank you.”“I’m going to stop speaking.”“Harry, admit it, if you weren’t so utterly uninterested in all women save Alice, you would be sitting on this train yourself.”“Ben Shaw, I hate to point out the startlingly obvious, but I am sitting on this train myself.”“Exactly!”“Ugh.”“I’m surprised to learn that Lawrence is the world leader in the production of cotton and woven textiles. Are you?”“Stunned.”

“You think she needs a chaperone?” When they didn’t answer, the nun tutted disapprovingly. “Let me explain something to you, Mrs. Attaviano, and I hope your daughter is listening, though I cannot be sure. Morally speaking, the only chaperone a young girl of good character requires is her own sense of decency and pride. She who possesses these qualities doesn’t need a chaperone – ever. She who lacks them...” The nun laughed lightly. “Argus himself couldn’t chaperone her.”

“The weary Italian woman nodded at her children behind her. “Where we came from, everybody lives only one kind of life. Alessandro said he wanted his children to choose the life, not the life to choose the children. And also,” she added, panting, slowing down and wiping her brow, “he said America is the only place in the world where even the poor can be smart.”

“Never forget where you came from, Gina Attaviano, Alessandro said to her before he died. Then it will always be easy.”

“Father continues to make the vulgar error,” she said, “that to a woman, love is her whole existence.”

“Mimoo shook her head. “Too sleepy for her maybe, but ideal for her mother, who worries too much. I don’t need excitement in my life. I’ve had enough of it, thank you.” She shrugged. “Gia will be fine. She’ll be fine anywhere.”“Gia?”“It’s Gia when I love her,” said Mimoo. “My husband never called her anything but that. Me, I love her, but she drives me crazy. So headstrong. To call her stubborn like a mule is an injustice to mules. The mules are St. Francis compared to her.”Harry laughed.”

“I told you,” Harry was saying to Ben. “I warned you. As soon as I saw her from distance, do you remember what I said to you?”“Yes, yes. You said she was trouble. You where wrong there, and you’re wrong now.”“Benjamin, I know about these things. She is trouble.”“You know nothing except the idiocy you glean from your insipid books that tell you nothing about life. You don’t know how to live.”“And you do?”“Yes, I do. She is no trouble. She is Life!”Harry rolled his eyes to the heavens. “More fool you. How else do you define trouble?”“Like a femme fatale,” Ben said.“Give her time, Benjamin. She is a fille fatale. Quattordici indeed!”Ben moved away from mocking Harry, his shoulders dropping.”

“This late afternoon, they stood shoulder to shoulder at the masthead, watching the dockhands tie up the boat. Though she was four years younger and a girl, they were nearly the same height, Gina and Salvo. Gina was actually taller. No one could figure out where she got the height; her parents and brothers were not tall. Look, the villagers would say. Two “piccolo” brothers and a “di altezza” sister. Oh, that’s because we have different fathers, Gina would reply dryly. Salvo would smack her upside the head when he heard her say this. Think what you’re saying about our mother, he would scold, crossing himself and her at her impudence.”

“Simply, this is what she believed: she believed that the universe showed each of us certain things, that it made certain things open.Many people lived a peace life with nothing ever happening to them. But into some families other things fell. Some families were afflicted with random tragedies - car accidents, plane accidents, hang gliding accidents, bus crashes, knifing, drownings, scarves getting caught under the wheels of their Rolls Royces, breaking their necks.”

“Daughters are supposed to be friends to their mothers in their old age.”

“Here I am, your one man circus freak show, having bled out for mother Russia, having desperately tried to get to you, now on top of you with this scourge marks, and you, who used to love me, who was sympathized, internalized, normalized everything, you are not allowed to turn away from me....this is what I am going to look like until the day I die. I can't get any peace from you ever unless you find away to make peace with this. Make peace with me. Or let me go for good.”

“Do I think she has forgotten me; found a new life? Assumed that I was dead, accepted that I was dead. Alexander shrugged. I think about it all the time. I live inside my heart. But what can I do? I have to move toward her.”

“Lowering his voice, he said, "In America we have a custom. When you're given presents for your birthday, you're supposed to open them and say thank you."Tatiana nervously looked down at the present. "Thank you." Gifts were not something she was used to. Wrapped gifts? Unheard of, even when they came wrapped only in plain brown paper."No. Open first. Then say thank you."She smiled. "What do I do? Do I take the paper off?""Yes. You tear it off.""And then what?""And then you throw it away.""The whole present or just the paper?"Slowly he said, "Just the paper.""But you wrapped it so nicely. Why would I throw it away?""It's just paper.""If it's just paper, why did you wrap it?""Will you please just open my present?" said Alexander”

“He yanked up a couple of mushrooms. "Tania, can we eat these?"Taking them out of his hands and throwing them back on the ground, Tatiana said, "Yes. But we will only be able to eat them once.”

“The iron fettering on the gate read "Arbeit Macht Frei"."What do you think that means?" asked a man from behind them in line."Abandon hope all ye who enter here," replied Alexander."No," said Misnoy. "It means, 'Work will set you free,'""Like I was saying."Misnoy laughed. "This must be a Class One camp. For political prisoners. Probably Sachsenhausen. In Buchenwald, the engraving didn't say that. It was for more serious, more permanent offenders.""Like you?""Like me." He smiled pleasantly. "Buchenwald read, 'Jeden das Seine. To Each His Own.'""The Germans are so fucking inspiring," said Alexander.”

“Yes. It was Tatiana, not specter but matter. She was measurable. His little Newton had mass and occupied space. A small finite matter in infinite space. That is what math gave him—principles of design that tied together the boundless universe. That is why he measured her. Because she was order.”

“Only one bear eats from this honey pot, Tatia”

“You're to need a lot more strength when you hear what I'm about to you”

“...But I’m telling you, something happens to beautiful people. They think that something extra is owed to them by life, by God, by all the people around them. They think their life has to be better, more dramatic, happier—in color, not black and white.”

“Everyone wishes their life were happier.”Lily shook her head. “No. Not like beautiful people. They walk this earth, their chin up to the rest of us, and think that great happiness, great love, great joy is their right and their prerogative. Passion as the entitlement of the beautiful, the way power is the entitlement of the rich.” Lily paused. “Especially when it comes to love. Beauty and love become somehow synonymous. How can plain people have great love? They can’t, that’s how. They can have average love, mediocre love, but their hearts can’t soar. Only beautiful hearts can soar.”“I think you’ve hit on the nail right there,” said Spencer. “Beautiful people don’t necessarily have beautiful hearts.”“But it doesn’t matter, don’t you see? You don’t fall in love with a heart. You fall in love with a woman’s face, with her body, with her hair, with her smell. That’s first, everything else is secondary. My mother’s beauty when she was young was so extreme that she didn’t understand how every man who met her didn’t love her in extremis.”

“Courage, Alexan­der,” she whis­pered.“Courage, Ta­tiana.”

“I want to meet this one,” he said. “I need to meet the girl who has taken our wandering Alexander’s horse and cart.”

“I want you to know that should something happen to me, don’t worry about my body. My soul isn’t going to return to it, nor to God. It’s flying straight to you, where it knows it can find you, in Lazarevo. I want to be neither with kings nor heroes, but with the queen of Lake Ilmen.”

“When you die, you’ll be wearing your white dress with red roses, and your hair will be long and falling around your shoulders. When they shoot you, up on your damn roof or walking alone on the street, your blood will look like another red rose on your dress, and no one will notice, not even you when you bleed out for Mother Russia.”

“This wasn’t a way of getting over a passing crush on your older sister’s swain. This was the moon of Jupiter and the sun of Venus aligning in the sky over her head.”

“He came over in long pur­pose­ful strides, sat at the edge of her bed, and in a ten­der, pos­ses­sive ges­ture wiped the lip­stick off her lips. “What is that?” he asked.“All the other girls wear it,” Ta­tiana said, quickly wip­ing her mouth, breath­less at the sight of him. “In­clud­ing Dasha.”“Well, I don’t want you to have any­thing on your lovely face,” he said, stroking her cheeks. “God knows, you don’t need it.”

“Hay un momento, un instante en la eternidad. Antes de descubrir la verdad el uno sobre el otro. Ese simple momento es el que nos impulsa a través de la vida - cuando nos sentimos como si estamos en el borde de nuestro futuro, de pie sobre el abismo, antes de saber a ciencia cierta que amamos. Antes de saber a ciencia cierta que amamos para siempre.”

“you know that, don't you? Alexander whispers. I love you. I'm blind for you, wild for you. I'm sick with you. I told you that our first night together when I asked you to marry me, I'm telling you now. Everything that's happened to us, everything, is because I crossed the street for you. I worship you. You know that through and through. The way I hold you, the way I touch you, my hands on you, God, me inside you, all the things I can't say during dalight, Tatiana, Tania, Tatiasha, babe, do you feel me?”

“En el tapiz de la existencia de Alexander había un único hilo que no podría romperse con la muerte, el dolor, la distancia, el tiempo, la guerra o el comunismo. «No hay nada capaz de romperlo —susurró Tatiana. Y con su aliento, su cuerpo y sus labios, añadió—: Mientras yo esté en el mundo, mientras respire, tú perdurarás, soldado.»”

“The sunshine filtered in through the billowing white curtains. Tatiana knew there would be only an instant, a brief flicker of time that bathed her with the possibilities of the day. In a moment it would all be gone. And in a moment it was. Still...that sun streaking through the room, the distant rumble of buses through the open window, the slight wind. This was the part of Sunday that Tatiana loved most: the beginning.”

“Where your treasure is, there your hear will be also”

“Live as if you have faith,” she said, “and faith shall begiven to you.”

“But first my feet will freeze and thenmy legs and then my insides, they will all turn to ice. And my blood, too, andmy heart, and I will forget.”

“All good things come to those who wait.”

“Love is, to be loved,” said Alexander, “in return.”